Writing a poem at work

At work I tap keys and look serious, professional.
The scratchy roll of the mouse on wood
seems frantic, eager, hard working.

When the important people pass
I open a half complete spreadsheet
And reach for my pondering eyebrows
Like a spy wearing a false moustache in a bad movie.

I look through the screen,
Ignoring the numbers imprisoned there,
My peripheral focus the authority sharks
Stalking my work space.

Still watching, with hammerhead eyes,
they leave and,
in my head,
I count to five.





Before carrying on
writing my poem
at work.